Doorstep Packages
by OfDragonsandPygmyPuffs
Summary: AU sort of. Harry disappeared shortly after the end of the Battle of Hogwarts and was thrown into a world quite different from the one he was used to: Parenthood. Currently one-shot, might add more chapters later. Reviews are very much welcome, I don't own anything but the plot.
1. Chapter 1

"James! Breakfast is ready!" A tall, messy-haired man stood in the middle of a small and equally messy kitchen, shouting upstairs to his still-sleeping son. The man in question was Harry Potter; The Boy Who Lived, The Chosen One, The One Who Won. Truth be told, he had not heard any of those names for a good seven years now, but the thought of them still put a grimace on his face. He had just finished making breakfast for himself and his son of toast and cereal (Pixie Puffs for James, CheeriOwls for Harry), and was now waiting for the six-year-old to finally get up. _He's been asleep for 12 hours now, the snow didn't tire him out _that_ much yesterday, did it?_

But just as Harry began contemplating whether to go upstairs and wake up the boy himself, said boy appeared in the doorway, stifling a yawn against the back of his hand. "G'morning daddy," James said, before sitting down and starting his breakfast without even a second glance at his father.

Harry couldn't help but smile as he sat down opposite the raven-haired boy, who was currently devouring his portion of Pixie Puffs, and watch the top of his head. _His hair seems to be getting messier every time I look at it. _Harry had noticed the state of his son's hair as soon as he had laid eyes on the boy when he was just two weeks old; although now James was older it had become even more noticeable and even more unruly. As Harry mused over this, his son subconsciously reached up and pulled his hand through his hair, messing it up further. _He's going to be a real ladies man, just like his grandfather. _Harry laughed at this; _hopefully I won't have to deal with that for another few years._

James finished his cereal within a few minutes, surreptitiously pushing his empty bowl towards his father (clearly hoping said father would clean it for him) and began on his toast. While he ate, Harry noted other similarities between himself and the six-year-old before him, of which there were plenty; his nose was slightly rounded at the end, like Harry's, and his more angular face shape was most likely from his father. Even his knobbly knees were inherited down the paternal side. A lot of his personality was taken from Harry too, most likely due to the fact that Harry had single-handedly raised him since he was a baby. He was very sarcastic – not in a rude way, but a way that never failed to put a smile on his father's lips – and he could be very strong-willed about what was right and what was wrong, which often caused arguments between the two as to which punishment (or if _any _punishment) should be used against James' mischievous ways. His magical ability further proved him to be Harry Potter's child – from the age of 3 he had objects flying around the room from where they had once been put out of his reach.

But it was the differences between the two that truly puzzled Harry. Some things were easier to explain, such as his slightly arrogant nature and complete ignorance when it came to rules which were most definitely taken from his grandpa James. But others seemed much harder to solve. For one, he seemed much taller than Harry had been at his age, and he had an appetite of a boy twice his size. _Similar to Ron_, Harry thought, before pushing it away. _I haven't thought about him – or any of the others for that matter- since…since…well, since a long time ago and let's leave it at that._

"Daaaaaaddy!" Harry was pulled out of his memories by his insistent son. "I'm done! Can I go play in the snow now pleeeease?" James pulled out his famous puppy-dog eyes, which he had come to learn were quite effective on his doting father. However, instead of allowing James his way, Harry was unwillingly drawn to another difference between the two of them – their eyes.

Where Harry's where almond-shaped and bright emerald, James' were round and deep chocolate in colour. James' eyes were not like Harry's mother's, Lily, whose were the same as Harry's, nor were they like James Sr.'s, whose were Hazel. His Aunt Petunia, even, had harsh, light blue eyes, meaning the source of his son's eyes were not from one of his grandparents. _Perhaps he has his mother's eyes. _The thought flashed through his mind, as it had many times as he gazed into those deep pools. But it was not the colour or the shape that threw him off, it was the inexplicable yet strangely comforting _familiarity_ of his son's eyes. Whenever James stared at him in defiance or looked at him in admiration for one of his magic tricks, Harry was hit with such a profound sense of something similar to the homely feeling he used to get at the Burrow_, _which, unbeknownst to James (and wisely so) worked even better than his puppy-dog eyes.

"Hey!" James waved his hand in front of Harry's face, effectively ending the latter's daydream. "It's rude to ignore somebody because if you do then nargles will-"

"-Nargles will climb into your head while you sleep and give you terrible nightmares" Harry laughed at his son's use of one of Harry's own 'life lessons' against him. "Yes, I know the story, and yes you can go play in the snow now – BUT!" Harry said firmly as James began to move towards the back door, "you have to clean up your dishes first!"

"But daddy all the snow might be gone by then! The poor snowmen are lying in heaps outside just waiting for me to come build them up again," James said defiantly. However, as soon as he said it he knew it was no good – his father could be just as stubborn as he was, and when it came to the dishes Harry usually won.

"I'm sure the snowmen can wait a little bit longer. No buts! Come on now, if we start now we can be outside in 10 minutes _and _I will help you build the snowmen so you can get them really big, how does that sound?" James slowly nodded, although slightly begrudgingly. Harry had, of course, been planning on going outside with him anyway (he had always loved playing in the snow himself, something else his mini-me had inherited from him), but there was no need to tell James that.

As the father and son slipped into their usual routine of Harry washing, James drying, the older man couldn't help but wonder how he had become so lucky – to be stood here, alive even after all he'd been through, with his son whom he loved more than anything in this world (or indeed any other world), and with no fear of Voldemort or any other bad guys that could risk taking James away from him.

It hadn't always been like this. A few months after the Battle, Harry had moved into a derelict cottage he'd found in the middle of nowhere, where his mental state had drastically fallen downhill. The only thoughts that flowed through his mind were _no one wants me anymore, everything is my fault, _and _everyone would just be safer and happier if I weren't around anymore. _And he let these thoughts cloud over any others because he believed wholeheartedly that they were true. He began drinking and staying out all night in dodgy bars and clubs and getting into fights with strangers. When he did go home and sleep, he only ever managed a few hours at a time before a new nightmare racked his body, and so some nights after drinking heavily he would invite random women home with him just for the company. He would awake next to them the next morning with no recollection as to who they were or how they got there.

This had lasted just over a year, with Harry living off the money he had inherited from both the Potter and Black family vaults in Gringotts (which had increased in size once he had come of age). Towards the end of this year, he had learned to cut off all emotion so as to be impervious to the bad thoughts that followed him and fogged his view of himself.

But on April the 4th, 1999, that all changed in the form of a small bundle on the doorstep of the cottage. Harry had almost stepped on it as he went out to answer the doorbell. Looking down, he noticed that the bundle was _moving _and it took his slightly inebriated brain a few moments to realise that inside the bundle was a baby, and on the blankets was pinned a note.

He slowly picked up the bundle and walked towards his bedroom and placed the baby onto the bed. He moved empty beer bottles out of the child's eyesight, feeling that someone his age should not be exposed to that sort of behaviour, before opening and reading the note that was pinned to him with shaking hands:

_Dear Harry,_

_Please don't try and figure out who I am, because you won't be able to. We met 9 and a half months ago, in a pub in the Isle of White. You might be wondering why I told you this if I didn't want you to know who I was but as I hear it there were quite a few other women from that area too so I'm assured that I am quite safe. I was the one with the blonde hair and blue eyes in the matching blue dress and before you ask again the dress wasn't mine and I transfigured everything else. _

_We had a great time. We laughed and danced and you looked happy for a man who was on his sixth glass of Firewhiskey. After a while, you took me back to your place where you told me about the weak Fidelius Charm you had placed over it once you had moved in, and the safety of the doorstep, which is why I left my little package there. Well, I guess he's our little package. I also checked you were in before I left him – don't worry I'm not a completely terrible mother!_

_Oh Merlin, that was an awful joke. I am an awful, awful person._

_Believe me when I say this, this decision was not one I made lightly. I love that boy more than anything and he's only two weeks old! But I am not fit to be taking care of a child. I'm not saying you are more prepared than me but you have money coming out of your hoo-hah, and, to be honest, I think it would do you a world of good to have something to take care of and to have something that needs you and relies on you. Please don't prove me wrong._

_I know you will love him just as I did – do – and you won't just turn him away to the nearest orphanage. I know you will be a great father. Maybe one day I can come see him – come see both of you- sometime in the future, when I'm ready, but for now I just can't do it._

_His name is James. James Sirius. Yes, you told me about them too. He was born at 2:32 am on March 22__nd__, and he weighed 6lbs 8oz. He was so tiny I thought I would break him. You wouldn't believe it looking at him but he has actually grown a lot in these past two weeks! He's going to grow up big and strong just like his Daddy._

_Please take care of my baby. And take care of yourself._

_All my love and gratitude,_

_ G xx_

Harry put down the note before turning to look at the small child, who was still sleeping, a look of peace etched onto his delicate face. It took Harry a while to acknowledge what the letter was trying to tell him, but when he did it hit him with full force. This baby was James Sirius Potter, and he was Harry Potter's _son_.

As he took in every single tiny feature of the boy's face – his nose so round, so _perfect_; and his lips in a small pout; and his tiny, pale eyelashes that fluttered with his eyelids; and the softness of his chubby cheeks; and (he even chuckled to himself at this) the tufts of black hair that were already sticking out of his head, proving that he was indeed Harry's son – he couldn't help the feeling of love that burst through his veins, warming up his whole body. And then James opened his eyes – those _eyes_\- and Harry couldn't help but fall willingly into the depths of them, creating a feeling so strong within him that it seemed to force its way into his chest and cling around his heart, a feeling that he still cannot describe even to this day. And with that he knew that he couldn't leave the boy and pretend he never existed. He couldn't let him go through the childhood that he had lived through. So he made a promise to James that day: he would never lose control of his mind again and he would never step foot in one of those filthy pubs as long as James still relied on him.

As time went on, Harry couldn't believe the state he had gotten himself into only a few months before and he vowed that his son would never know that side of his father and he would do anything in his power to protect him against doing the same. He tidied and redecorated the cottage – James' nursery was his favourite room with it's animal wallpaper that moved and waved at the people in the room. At age 4, Harry enrolled James into a nursery school (as he had no idea how to educate the boy before he got to Hogwarts), and got himself a job at the county's Wizarding Law Enforcement, with the promise that they would tell no one that they had _the _Harry Potter working for them.

Whilst James grew, Harry also began to get angrier at the mysterious mother. _How could she leave such a beautiful boy to a man she's known for 10 hours? _But at the same time, he felt extreme appreciation towards her for allowing him this time with his baby and for giving him this second chance at life. Of course, it hadn't been easy: Harry had almost wanted to rip his hair out when James just _wouldn't _go to sleep, and whenever James fell over and hurt himself and he turned those round eyes towards Harry with a look of such hurt as tears fell, Harry almost wanted to cry himself and rip up the floor for hurting the only person he had worth living for. But all of that was worth it to hear James' first word, or to see him take his first steps, or to be there the first time he accidentally used one of Daddy's swear words.

Six years later and Harry was stood in the front room - watching as his excited son shot down the stairs with his gloves and scarf on, ready to go build a snowman with his father – and the feeling of pure, undeserving luck passed through him once more.

The next thought that passed through his mind, as the doorbell rang behind him, was how much he wished Ron and Hermione were there to see him.


	2. Chapter 2

In truth, Harry had not seen Ron, or Hermione, or any of his old friends for that matter, for a little over 7 years. For two weeks immediately following the war, Harry had been swept up into press conferences, meetings with Kingsley (the new minister), and funerals of those who had died that he had little time for much else. He had been staying at number 12 Grimmauld Place, surviving off Kreacher's home-cooked meals every now and then and having nightmares as his only company. It was at the end of this second week that Ron found him and invited him round to the Burrow that evening. "Just for dinner at least," he had said.

Harry had been reluctant to go to say the least. How could he show his face there after being the cause of their beloved brother's death? He had seen the look of complete devastation on the Weasley's faces at Fred's funeral and he hated himself for being the one to cause it. He couldn't bear the thought of his surrogate family directing that hatred towards him directly, and so he had avoided them in the hopes of putting off the inevitable.

However, when he arrived at the Burrow, he encountered his other reason for evading the Burrow: Ginny. He had just turned around from hanging his coat on the coat rack when he saw her stood at the bottom of the stairs, her dainty feet planted steadily on the floor and her slender hands grasping onto her curvaceous hips. Harry completely lost any inclination of how to breathe as he raked his eyes over her. _She is so beautiful; more so than before I went away, if that is at all possible. _Her flaming red hair hung loosely on her shoulders before cascading down her back; the back, he remembered fleetingly, that he had been holding onto the last time they had kissed. Her body had filled out to become even more womanly, even more inviting, and as a breeze came in through the window behind her he was hit with her flowery scent that had him remembering every second they had spent together in the secluded corners of Hogwarts grounds – the happiest time he could remember.

Then his eyes met hers, and she held onto his with that same blazing look that made his heart tighten, and he _remembered_. He remembered the sheer happiness he had felt when he was with her, the utter _normalcy _of it. He remembered breaking up with her, and the devastation he had felt following it, as if he could never be whole again. And he remembered the kiss on his birthday and everything just being _Ginny_ before Ron had stormed in and ended it. He remembered the months and months of running and hiding and hunger and anger and hopelessness and having only one escape from that – to watch Ginny's dot on the Marauder's map to make sure she was okay. He remembered seeing her face smile towards him before cold hands and a harsh voice ordered _Avada Kedavra _towards him… And he realised that he loved her – no, more than that – that he _needed _her and he hoped amongst hope that she felt the same.

As she walked towards him, he saw something else in those eyes he loved, something different. It was a pain and heartache that only came from battling through hard times – she had suffered. She had suffered even though he had tried to prevent it and the crushing guilt fell upon him once more.

Ginny was only a foot away from him now and Harry thought for a moment that she might kiss him – but then she threw her arm backwards before bringing it round full force and slamming it into the side of his face.

As Harry was left stumbling backwards in a daze, she uttered seven words that had determined his life forever:

"I _never _want to see you again."

And with that she stormed back up the rickety stairs with tears in her eyes and Harry's heart in her hands.


End file.
